"Dinner's ready!" Mother called to her children, all three of them, as she set the table for five. Sprinting down the stairs was Jamie, as Sarah emerged slowly and miserably from her room, while Malcolm was taking care of business.
Business: the toilet. What other business would a nine year old be taking care of? Genocide?
They all took their seats together, as Mother mumbled through the prayers, slapping Malcolm's hand when he reaches for a slice before she's finished.
"Amen," Mother whispered; the sign that the kids could finally dig in.
"Where's-"
"He's out," Mother interrupted.
"Oh. But-"
"He'll be back soon."
They ate in silence. it wasn't always like this, not when Father was home. he was the 'down-to-Earth' one, while Mother was the 'strict, wise' parent. Life was good, great even. Malcolm was lucky to be born into such a-
Someone banged on the door. Mother's eyes widened, as she told her kids to hide in their rooms. It was the first time Malcolm had seen Mother scared, it was unusual. She ushered the kids away, taking a deep breath herself while she moved towards the door. She turned the handle and the door flew open, Father crashing into the floor with bullet holes in his back, his eyes lifeless, blood soaking into the carpet.
Jamie was the first to run when Mother started to scream, only to see her being dragged away by four men in white robes, draped from head to toe, with holes only for their eyes. Malcolm emerged, with Sarah pushing past him in an attempt to get to Mother.
With all three children there to watch, a final figure appeared, this one in red robes. At his command, the hooded figures unleashed hundreds of bullets into Mother, before turning on the kids themselves. Jamie screamed, jumping in front of Malcolm while Sarah turned away, crumpling to the floor. Jamie fell, his eyes wide and opaque. "J-Jamie," Malcolm's eyes watered as he fell to his knees, unscathed physically, while the figures laughed.
Laughed.
